The jingle of keys followed by the telltale sound of metal scraping metal was all the warning I needed to shoot up from the floor and sedately settle myself on the seat of the spindle, appearing for all the world as if it wasn’t my first time sitting on it since I’d been locked in the room.
The captain entered, followed by Kirkin and some other guard. Their rigid faces melted at the sight of the sparkling bobbins and all looked like fish out of water, their lips worked but failed to make any sound. It was rather tempting to ask Merlin to turn them into actual fish then, to swim dazedly around my father’s sailor boots. Once the men finally regained control of their mouths, they still didn’t say anything, but the way they eyed me then the gold thread, the gold thread then me, was enough to convey what they were thinking.
I had done the impossible.
Except I hadn’t.
Another lie to add upon the soaring mountain shadowing my life.
The captain signaled to Kirkin, who stepped forward with a black velvet bag and carefully stored the bobbins inside. He tied the bag securely shut and handed it to the captain, who clutched it so fiercely his knuckles whitened.
The captain grumbled something and the others turned to the door. I didn’t realize I was supposed to follow until Kirkin purposely motioned after the retreating captain.
“Well then, on with it, miss,” he encouraged.
I scurried out of the room, not once looking back, determined to never see it again. I didn’t care what magic happened there, the sooner this was over, the sooner this would all simply shrink into a tale—a true one, too—for me to regale my future children with.
I followed the guards down the tangle of passageways to the throne room. I suppose I should have been excited, apprehensive, or even something in between, but I felt uneasy, an unknown scraping in my gut indicating that this would not be the end of this absurd incident. Despite the bag of glittering bobbins, I couldn’t feel calm.
We came upon the throne room, where it seemed the gaggle of noblemen had grown since the day before. Or maybe it was just my imagination. One thing was sure, from the low growl near the throne, I knew Lady Mulberry and her darling Pomeranian were back.
Our little procession didn’t stop until we were at the tip of the steps leading up to the throne. Almost in unison, we dipped down before the king, all but the captain keeping heads lowered until otherwise permitted.
“Your Majesty,” the captain proclaimed, his voice clear in the expectant room. He held the bag out toward the king. “The results of the test.”
It was still hard to connect his voice to his body. To this day, I’ve never heard him utter a clear word except in the presence of the king. Infuriatingly steadfast man, that soldier.
The king commanded the rest of us to rise, then accepted the proffered bag. Taking his time, an action surely meant to heighten the suspense for those assembled, he carefully undid the ties around the black velvet bag and slowly let them fall. Then he opened it and peered inside, keeping his face down so only he could see within, though how he saw anything without any light is beyond me.
He raised his head and looked out at the crowd, barely able to control his mirth. This was a different king from the one I’d seen yesterday. That one was bored with his life, his crown, his audience, and this one, well, this one was quite obviously enjoying himself.
After what felt like a very long time, the king reached inside the bag and pulled out one of the bobbins. There was a collective gasp from the crowd, even though many couldn’t clearly see what they were gasping about. His Majesty took the tip of the thread and pulled it out, unwinding it slowly for full theatrical effect. I’d only once seen a wizard perform a show of magic in our village, and I had to admit that no matter his actual ability, that wizard had nothing in presentation compared to our king.
The thread glinted in the light streaming in through the large windows. The king leaned forward and examined the thread carefully. He tugged at it, rubbed his fingers along it, and even bit down on it. When he finally looked up again, his eyes searched me out and I knew, even from where I stood, that something had changed in them. They still twinkled with mischief, they still glittered with gold, but they were also rather impressed at the feat my outwardly non-magical self had pulled off.
Whether or not the king actually believed I could spin straw into gold, he couldn’t refute the evidence before him. And he knew full well that nobody had been seen entering or exiting the room after I’d been locked inside. The key there, of course, was that nobody had been seen, so the king, the captain, and the guards concluded it was unlikely that anyone had entered any other way. Seeing is believing, after all. And anyone could see what the king held in his hands.
The king passed the bobbin he was holding to an important-looking man standing right behind him.
“Sir Grigory, what say you?” he inquired.
Sir Grigory, a thin, graying man with intelligent eyes and a deliberate demeanor, took the bobbin and examined it carefully. In the meantime, the king pulled out another bobbin and another, proving that all therein were wound with gold thread. Sir Grigory shook his head in wonder and handed his bobbin to a short man beside him. The man removed a loupe from his pocket and studied the thread pensively. The crowd began to murmur as the anticipation of the king’s verdict forced them to speak, if only to dilute some of their rising emotions.
“With further testing, we can be certain, Your Majesty,” the loupe man said, “but as well as the eye can see, this is real gold.”
The noise from the assembled nobles rose at his words, but it was effectively doused when Lady Mulberry waddled forward. Again, she stood too close as she peered at me, her fox-dog making his unreasonable dislike for me audibly known.
“I don’t know how she did it,” she announced, once more choosing not to address me directly, speaking about me as if I were an inanimate being who could neither hear, nor speak, “but I say, Rupie, you should keep her around.”
“Thank you, Madame. Your wise suggestions are always appropriately considered,” the king replied in a tone too serious to be sincere.
Having lived my whole life with a man who could never quite find harmony with the truth, I was beginning to wonder about our king. By all accounts, he was a fair enough ruler who gave little cause for complaint. He didn’t levy unreasonable taxes and he didn’t draft young men to fight impulsive wars. The details of any hedonist parts of his life were either very well kept secrets, or not extreme enough to need guarding. However, between the boredom I’d seen yesterday and his unmistakable mirth today, between the way he considered this all to be a game and the way he toyed with the noblemen, I knew the man was not as plain as he’d first appeared. Perhaps, he was only finding ways to alleviate the humdrum of a life of politics. Perhaps he was simply enjoying a serendipitous occasion that had come his way, a girl spinning gold a far more interesting diversion than another foxhunt, or banquet, or trip abroad. Perhaps he was really laughing at all of us. Perhaps it was parts of all these, and then some.
The king turned back to me. “While the genuineness of the gold is being determined, perhaps a hot meal and some rest are in order?”
“Please, thank you, Your Majesty,” I replied, trying my best to sound grateful, even if he was at fault for my present hunger and exhaustion.
I wasn’t worried anymore about what they would find upon closer examination. I knew, and I think the king knew as well, that the gold was real. I didn’t have to waste away my nerves fretting about that right now. A good rest was really all I could think of.
The king nodded to Kirkin, who tapped my hand signaling I should follow him. He led me from the throne room, took a new turn out the door, and stepped out into a sunny, roofless courtyard, a sudden opening within the palace that could not quite be considered indoors. In the center of the courtyard was a bubbling spring, its waters a sharp, icy blue like the runoff from melting snow in the mountains. Small lily pads surrounded bright pink water lilies flo
ating serenely above as if there were no movement below.
I couldn’t help myself. I had to stop and admire it.
“It feeds all the waters in the palace,” Kirkin informed me.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed.
“Enchanted, too,” Kirkin said, “by a mage. It’s always cold, but can never freeze. Same mage designed most of this palace, as well. Magic also keeps the water clean and keeps the palace from getting moldy.”
“For what did the king deserve such a wonderful gift?” I asked, then clamped my mouth tight. It was probably out of place to be questioning what was due the king.
Kirkin didn’t seem to mind. He simply smiled and said, “That is for the king to tell.”
I nodded, though I didn’t like the answer. I was disappointed, too, because I was quite certain there would never arise an occasion in which the king would feel compelled to tell me that story. But there wasn’t much I could do about it then.
“Very well,” was all I replied.
Kirkin led me onward, up a flight of stairs and to a room which wasn’t small, yet was made to feel larger by the grand glass doors leading to a small balcony hugging a corner of the room. The doors had been pushed open to let in the fresh, sunlight-scented air. In a small room off to the side, I heard the familiar sound of water splashing into a tub and I almost melted into the floor anticipating the pleasure of a hot bath.
Kirkin cleared his throat and I turned back to him. “I hope everything is to your satisfaction, miss?”
“Oh, yes, Kirkin, thank you. The king is so kind.”
“I’ll have the flower brought here,” he continued.
I stared at him a moment, wondering what addled notion would lead him to think I wanted any flour from the mill in my room.
“So you can care for it as needed,” he elaborated in response to my expression.
“Yes, yes, of course,” I rushed to say. “Please have it placed on the balcony. To catch the sun.”
I actually wanted it there so that whenever Merlin returned he would know where I was. For all I knew, Merlin had already returned and was anxiously circling the turrets looking for me right now. There was, however, nothing I could do about that without arousing unwanted suspicion.
“Of course,” Kirkin replied. He clicked his heels and was on his way.
The second I couldn’t hear his footsteps any longer, I ran to the adjoining room to see if the bath was ready. I would have dived right in with my clothes on, too, if I wasn’t wearing the only dress I had with me.
An hour later, I was cleaned, well fed, and sinking into the warmth of the softest bed I had ever touched. If this was to be my last day alive, at least it would be my best.
They had taken my dress to be laundered, so I was wearing a silky nightdress so light, I barely felt I was wearing anything at all. They had wanted to draw the curtains, but I asked them not to. I was tired enough to sleep with all the light, but even more, I wanted the sun to stream in, to remind me I was still part of this world. Good thing too, or I wouldn’t have noticed the weary, violet-feathered starling tumbling through the air and barely landing on the rail of the balcony, where it proceeded to teeter precariously, liable to fall off any instant.
I shot out the window door, scooping the bird up with both hands before it fell. Cradling it carefully, I climbed back into bed, then set it on the other side, watching as Merlin transformed back into his regular self.
“Are you all right?” was the first thing he asked me, crazed with worry.
I held my hand out to him in response, and he clambered across the bed so he could pull me toward him.
“Thank Heaven,” he murmured against my hair.
“You must be tired,” I said.
“Bone tired,” he agreed.
“Get comfortable,” I told him, and he didn’t question me.
It was a testament to how tired we both were that we didn’t think twice about what would be if we were found there together. While I had no markings of magic, Merlin was most assuredly magical. No matter his protestations, there was no assurance of what they would or would not do if they decided he had been the one to spin the straw into gold. Considering what I’d seen so far of the king, there really was no way to ascertain how he would react.
“I’m so glad you’re still alive,” Merlin began. “I tried to get here sooner, really, I—”
“Shhh,” I quieted him, not just because he didn’t need to explain, but also because I really wanted to sleep. There would be time enough to talk later. I hoped.
Merlin lay back and brought me closer to him. Even though he was dusty and dirty from his flight, I snuggled against the safety of his warmth and familiarity. He absently played with my hair as sleep gently pulled us toward it.
“How did you manage it?” he asked.
“What?” My eyes were already giving sight to my mind so it could dream.
“The straw,” Merlin clarified, “how did you turn it into gold?”
I smiled, though the memory of the strange little man was more disconcerting than funny. Especially his certainty that we would see each other again.
“I didn’t,” I said. “I had help.”
“From where?” Merlin asked, and though he was curious, relief at my being alive was allowing his body to lose the battle with sleep.
“From the little man.”
“What little man?”
“The one with the mismatched eyes.”
“Huh?”
At least, I assume that’s what he said. I didn’t really hear, because I was already falling heavily into sleep.
The Second Test
We slept until late afternoon shadows crept their long fingers across the floor. I was the first to wake and only realized why when I tuned in to the knocking on the door.
“Yes?” I called out, my voice slightly cracking.
“We’ve some refreshments for you, miss,” a voice called back. “If you wish.”
I looked down at Merlin still sleeping soundly beside me. Heavens, it was good to see him there. If there had to be anyone with me, it couldn’t have been anyone other than him. True, my options were severely limited, but Father certainly wasn’t one of them. Merlin hadn’t eaten yet, and he wasn’t supposed to be in here, but there was someone with refreshments right outside the door.
“Yes, yes, I do wish,” I called back, clumsily clambering out of bed and frantically searching for a place to hide Merlin.
Finding none, I simply thrust the blanket over him and prayed he wouldn’t wake until the servant outside was gone. Or suffocate. Heavens, I prayed he wouldn’t suffocate, the palace blankets were so much thicker than the ones either of us had back home.
I opened the door just a sliver, but it was enough for the sweet smell of fresh berries to find me. A servant bearing a cart laden with fresh fruit, little tartlets, and a pitcher of something cold and certainly delicious stood right outside the door.
“F-F-Forgive me,” I spluttered, hoping she couldn’t see the bed. Bad enough they were speaking about me in the court, imagine what kind of gossip such a discovery would spark. “I don’t have a dressing gown,” I continued, “and really, it’s just—”
The servant smiled and cut in to save me, and perhaps even herself, further embarrassment. “I understand, miss,” she said kindly. “I’ll leave it right here.”
“Thank you,” I said gratefully.
She turned around, using her body to shield me from the hallway and I quickly pulled the cart inside and shut the door. A pause, then the sound of the servant’s steps walking away. I may have closed the door again a little too quickly though, because the noise woke up Merlin.
“What’s—here?” his muffled voice came from somewhere under the blankets.
I immediately clamped my hand over my mouth to hide my gleeful cry. I ran over to the bed and ducked down beside the end of it. The mattress shifted as Merlin sat up.
“Millie?” he asked in a raised whisper, trying to fo
rce his voice to stay calm. “Millie, where are you? Millie!”
I waited long enough to let the worry creep in, then popped up from beside the bed.
“Baaah!”
“Aaah!” Merlin yelled, and let loose a thin purple zap of magic, which shot past me and took a chip off the pitcher.
He narrowed his eyes at me as I burst out laughing. I bounded onto the bed and bounced beside him.
“How did you sleep?”
“I’ll tell you how I slept,” Merlin replied, his voice mock threatening.
I giggled and scurried away from him, and he quickly gave chase. I suppose we should have been quieter, more discreet, but it was easy to forget about the outside world when it was just Merlin and me. I ducked and dodged, until I suddenly froze in place, mid run, unable to move anything but my head. A dull purple glow vibrated around me.
“Now then,” Merlin mused, circling me slowly. “What to do about you?”
“Merlin, release me,” I demanded. “Using magic isn’t fair!”
“Hm?” Merlin affected distraction. “What was that?”
“Release me!”
“Oh right. Absolutely,” Merlin agreed, “All in good time.”
He continued his infuriating circling, then his eyes landed on the pretty array of refreshments.
“What have we here?”
He walked over to the cart and made a big show of examining, smelling, tasting everything. “You know,” he said between bites of a lemon tart, “you must try this. It’s simply delightful.”
I glared at him in response.
Merlin chuckled and waved his hand at me, dispelling the glow keeping me in place. I stumbled forward and flopped into a nearby chair.
“How did you…when did you learn to do that?” I asked, my awe displacing my annoyance.
“A few weeks ago,” Merlin grinned.
He settled himself before the tray and glanced over at me. Seeing that I wasn’t upset at him, he waved me over to him. Literally. With a flick of his hand, my chair slid across the floor and came to a stop beside him. I giggled.
Lies of Golden Straw Page 8